


The Beach House

by leoba



Series: Scary Stories [1]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Oh Whistle and I’ll Come to You My Lad - M. R. James, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Beach House, Ben loses his temper, Cthulhu Mythos, Dubious Consent, Finn POV, Graduate Student Ben Solo, Horror, I chose not to use archive warnings because none of them apply, Kinda, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M. R. James - Freeform, Multi, Nobody Dies, POV Finn, Psychological Horror, There's no rape, Unreliable Narrator, Unreliable POV, and there is a lot of sex, but it's not graphic so i'm rating this M instead of E, but that said there is some unpleasant stuff, implied BDSM, just a tiny bit of blood, more technically, oh more tags, some stones are not meant to be overturned, some whistles are not meant to be blown, there's no violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 05:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16340294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoba/pseuds/leoba
Summary: Ben inherits his uncle's beach house and invites Rey and Finn to spend a week there with him. It doesn't go well.





	The Beach House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunbug1138](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbug1138/gifts).



> This is a loose (very loose) Finnreylo mashup between M. R. James's "Oh Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad," and H. P. Lovecraft's _Call of Cthulhu_. "Oh Whistle" is one of my favorite scary stories ever, and although I don't like Cthulhu in particular I have a soft spot for Lovecraft, and that particular Old One suited the prompt, so that's what you get.
> 
> I wrote this for [rosemoonweaver](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com)'s Fic-o-Ween on Tumblr. I am most grateful to her for the prompt (which is in the end notes). I had way too much fun writing this thing!
> 
> Super-duper thanks to my alpha beta LoveThemFiercely and my, um, beta beta HarpiaHarpyja. Love in particular was immensely helpful in getting me through this.

  
  


It was very clear from the moment they arrived that Rey was displeased with the house. She put on a brave face, but it wasn’t what she’d expected and she was hard-pressed to hide it. Finn could see it in the lines of her body, hear it in the tightness of her voice. He swore to himself to do whatever he could to help make sure she had the best vacation possible, despite her immediate dislike of the house itself.

When Ben had asked Rey and Finn to come along for a week at the beach house he'd inherited from his uncle, that invitation had certain implications: sunshine, creature comforts, lots of _together_ time, and, of course, a nice beach. What they got instead was Grand Manan Island, a Canadian outpost off the coast of Maine. The house was a small cottage, not _unpleasant_ exactly, but built against the side of a cliff with only a very narrow beach between the cliffside and the tideline. It was on the eastern side of the island but faced full south, straight out into the ocean, with a cliff behind it and another cliff beside, running at an almost-90 degree angle from the one behind them to the far southern tip of the island. When the sun was up it would be nice to have relatively unimpeded views out onto the ocean. For most of the day, however, the house itself would be bathed in shadow.

The house was unremarkable, built in the 1960s, with three levels. The top level was a bedroom with ensuite bathroom (Ben’s crazy uncle had invested in a king-sized bed within the past few years at least, _thank god_ ). The main level had a kitchen and a small living room, which lacked a television; instead the threadbare sofa and armchair were arranged to face the windows that looked out to the sea. And finally there was the lower level, not properly a basement because it was above ground, but nevertheless a cramped, windowless room that nestled in the angle where the sand met the cliffside.

That room was the old man’s study, which Ben was just itching to get his hands on. It was lined with tables and file cabinets; framed maps covered what walls were visible, and a heavy-looking wooden rolltop desk topped with a green-glassed desk lamp was set in the very middle of the room, the back of the chair facing the bottom of the stairs. Every other room in the house had rows of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the water, bisected about three feet off the ground by a wooden sill, almost a small shelf, upon which the previous owner had placed the occasional seashell or stone. The windows were nice in theory; although at the moment, with the darkness outside, they just managed to look lonely and a bit forbidding. The house had its original styling and furniture; tones of orange and brown, and dark wood paneling, which was unpleasant in the dark and, Finn thought, would probably not be much better in the daytime.

The basement study was the ostensible reason for the trip. Ben’s uncle had been a world famous historian, renowned for his strange theories as much as for his brilliant scholarship. Ben had explained to Rey and Finn that he’d died under somewhat mysterious circumstances about six months before, and he - Ben - had inherited the house and all that was in it. The will had finally made it through probate; this was his first opportunity to see the house since it officially became his - and the first visit he’d made since he was a small child. His uncle and Ben’s mother - his uncle’s twin - had had some kind of falling out that kept them separated for the rest of his uncle’s life.

Ben was desperate for the contents of that study. His own thesis work on the history of cults in early America had lagged, and his graduate advisors were losing patience with him. He needed new ideas to push his research forward, potentially unique information that he could use to build the last chapters of his dissertation. He hoped there was something in his uncle’s unpublished research that might give him what he needed to get finished and get out with his degree.

He’d invited Rey and Finn along - well, Finn wasn’t _entirely_ sure why. Ben could do research just as well on his own, better even; the two of them would be a distraction, surely. But Ben had said he wanted them there, and it was clear he saw it as a chance for them to move their relationship forward. He didn’t use those words, of course. Ben didn’t use very many words at all; he was a bit of a mystery box, which could be annoying but Finn would readily admit he also found it attractive.

“I really like you guys, I’d like to get to know you better, and this is an opportunity for us to spend some real time together. Please come with me.” - that was what he’d said. They’d only been dating for about six months. The three of them had developed a quiet _thing_ while Finn and Rey were students in Ben’s _History of Early America_ class the Fall semester of the previous year, a thing which had become louder after the semester had ended. The two were seniors, just finishing up their humanities requirements, while most of the other students in the class were first-years. There was a camaraderie that grew easily between the older students and their graduate TA. Twenty-two is a lot younger than 31, but it’s still so much older than 18. By the time finals rolled around they’d developed mutual respect and, it turned out, not insignificant crushes, at least on some sides.

The night after finals ended Rey and Finn had gone out to a bar to celebrate the end of the semester. Finn found out later that Rey’d planned to take him home all along; he liked her a lot but he didn’t really think of her that way, however once the idea was suggested to him he couldn’t figure out why not. She was smart, and funny, not afraid to challenge a man, and _cute_ , with messy brown hair and freckles and the most beautiful smile (he had always noticed her smile, the way it made her nose crinkle and her cheeks pinch up).

Ben was there, sitting alone at the bar, looking relaxed in jeans and a black leather jacket, and they’d somehow struck up a conversation and ended up talking with him all evening. He’d turned out to be even more interesting outside the context of the classroom. In addition to being whip-smart he was also funny, and Finn noticed too, not for the first time, that he was quite good looking, for a guy. Ben was tall and broad, and he had eyes that were as much gold as they were brown; dark, soft looking hair that hung over said eyes in a very attractive way; and a goofy smile that made Finn’s stomach flip.

When closing time rolled around Ben had invited them back to his place, both of them, and he’d been so adorably awkward that _of course_ they’d said yes, and it had somehow managed to be comfortable and also very, very hot, and that was kind of that. They kept seeing each other, in pairs and as three, over the break and through the next semester, so when it was summer and Ben had to go for a week to the beach house he’d inherited from his uncle, why wouldn’t he invite them along?

And there they were. They’d left Boston around 8am but weren’t able to catch a ferry until 9pm, so it was almost 11 and pitch dark before they actually made it to the house. They all helped to unload the car; they’d done their grocery shopping on the mainland before taking the ferry over, so they would have enough food to last them the whole week. There was a local caretaker who had cleaned the place up a bit and ensured the utilities were on, so at least there were electric lights and running water, and it wasn’t _too_ dusty after sitting empty for however many months.

Ben had gone to the basement to check out the office, leaving Finn and Rey to finish unpacking the groceries. Finn put a hand on Rey’s shoulder as she bent into the fridge to put away the half and half.

“I can tell you don’t like the house,” he said. “I’m sorry. It is a bit old and seedy.”

She stood up and closed the fridge, wrapped her arms around his torso and gave him a squeeze. “It’s not even that, Finn. That’s okay. I grew up in seedy, I’m used to it. This is…” she sighed and looked towards the windows, the black holes in the house floating over the formica kitchen table, through which they could hear the sound of the surf, just dimly. “It’s just weird. When we pulled up, it seemed… too dark? I mean, we’re under a cliff, it’s cloudy tonight, it’s going to be dark. But. I don’t know, it’s like the dark is a thing that’s taking up space out there. It’s creepy. And I _don’t_ like it, but,” she trained her hazel eyes on his brown ones and smiled shyly, “I like _you_ , and I like Ben, and I’m tired but not so tired I don’t want to try out that big bed upstairs.”

Finn couldn’t argue with that, so they rushed to put away the rest of the groceries and pulled Ben up from the basement to discover to their pleasure that although old uncle Luke had a questionable sense of style, he had made an excellent decision with his mattress purchase.

* * *

 

That night, Finn dreams that he is standing on the beach, under the comfort of the cliff, which extends up and up and up until it’s lost in the liquid darkness of the sky. He looks out toward the horizon, but he can see nothing, just the faintest glow pulsing up from under that most distant line. He is waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what.

Finn does not remember this dream.

* * *

 

The next morning the three of them woke up with the sun streaming through the window. They made love languidly, with lots of laughter and sweet words. They didn’t really have anything they _had_ to do, so why not take their time with it? Eventually Rey got hungry, and then they all got out of bed and ate eggs and bacon while watching the waves limp up on the narrow shore through the wide windows in the kitchen. It looked better in the daytime, the air and the water were clear, and Finn was pleased to see that Rey’s mood from the previous evening hadn’t made it over to the morning.

For the first day Ben wanted to have a tour of the island. They visited two of the five lighthouses, had clam chowder for lunch at the Harbour Grille, then spent a couple of hours perusing the Grand Manan Museum. Rey bought a couple of magnets to commemorate the visit, which she stuck on the cabin’s fridge as soon as they got back.

Ben was keen to get started on his research, so he headed to the basement while Rey and Finn tag-teamed dinner prep. Once they were all fed and relaxed, Ben offered to show them some of what he’d found while digging through the detritus of his uncle’s lifetime of research.

It was mostly paper. Lots and lots and lots of yellowing paper. But Ben seemed excited about it, so that was good. The old man had been pretty organized, and Ben was confident that there was stuff there that he could use for his own dissertation. He’d anticipated the paper and had brought some banker’s boxes along, and he’d already started moving some of the files from the cabinets into the boxes.

There were other things, too. Fountain pens, lots of small, smooth rocks, and what Finn could only describe as _objects_. Little sculptures, pieces of wood, knickknacks, and a narrow, shiny black box that drew his attention in particular.

“What’s that?” he asked Ben, pointing to where the box sat on the top shelf at the back of the desk, half covered by a couple of old notebooks.

“Huh, I hadn’t noticed that,” Ben answered as he pulled the box out, sat down, and opened it so they could all see.

The box was wooden, coated with some kind of shiny black material and lined with black satin. It contained a very light brown cylinder, which was also made of some kind of wood. The object was about three inches long and narrow, with inscriptions visible on both sides of it.

“Oh, interesting,” Ben murmured, as he lifted the cylinder out of the soft lining of the box and examined it. It was hollow; one end was cut off straight, while the other one was slightly tapered, as though designed to be held in one’s mouth. It was, clearly, some kind of whistle.

Ben passed it to Finn, who turned it over in his hands. “These look like runes or something, but the words on the other side are legible. I can’t read the language, though. _QUIS EST ISTE QUI VENIT_. Is that Latin?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, that’s Latin. I’ll need to do a search to figure out what it means, though, my Latin’s no good. Too bad we don’t get cell service here,” and he pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and waved it with a rueful laugh before setting it on the edge of the desk.

Rey stepped around a pile of papers on the floor and reached for a book on one of the tables. “Here’s a Latin dictionary, maybe this will help,” and she reached past Finn to place it into Ben’s waiting hands, and then Finn smoothly passed her the whistle so she could have a look.

While Ben started leafing through the dictionary, Finn’s chest filled with satisfaction. It was a small moment, the trading of the objects, but it was moments like those that made Finn feel like they really belonged together; the three of them, a well-oiled machine. They were good together, they really were.

Suddenly there was a soft noise over his shoulder, like wind through the trees sounding from very far away, and the noise was accompanied by a picture in his brain: a figure, standing in the surf on the beach in front of the cottage they were in now. He couldn’t make out the figure, although the impression he got was of something quite large; larger than a man. He realized that Rey was blowing into the whistle.

Ben’s reaction was instantaneous. He jumped up out of the chair and grabbed the whistle out of her mouth, pulling it in tight against his chest. “What the _hell_ , Rey,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You don’t just go around blowing other people’s _whistles_.” It sounded to Finn like a ridiculous thing to say, but it didn’t look ridiculous. Ben was a big guy, tall and broad and muscular, and he was shaking with rage. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open so they could see his teeth; he was tense, like a wild animal that might leap forward at any moment.

Rey didn’t even apologize; she just started to cry.

Finn’s instinct was to calm him down. “Ben, she didn’t mean,” but then Ben turned on him in that dark, claustrophobic space.

“ _You_ ,” he snarled, “the best thing _you_ can do is get you both the hell out of here. You’re clearly just going to fuck things up. Go upstairs _now_ and _leave me alone_.”

The two young lovers were petrified, until Ben shouted again, wordlessly; and Finn grabbed Rey by the elbow and dragged her upstairs, all the way up to the bedroom, where they lay on the bed and held each other until her crying had slowed to the occasional sniffle. He hadn’t even taken the time to turn on a light, so they lay in darkness.

“That was so scary,” Rey whispered to him, “I had no idea he could be like that.”

Finn could only nod, his eyes trained on the horizon outside the window, which was now almost completely dark. “Yeah, that was bad. I’m really sorry, Rey. He’d better apologize.” But Finn didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t.

As it happened, Ben did apologize. He came up to the bedroom, head hanging, about an hour later. And he was very, very sorry. He explained that he’d used to have anger issues, but he’d been in therapy for a few years, and he didn’t understand what had set him off earlier. It was just a stupid whistle. He promised to practice his calming techniques the next time he felt an outburst coming on. And he cried, too, he wept, and asked them to please, please forgive him.

They did, of course, and their caresses of forgiveness quickly turned heated. Ben argued convincingly that he deserved to be punished for his transgressions, and Rey agreed with this wholeheartedly. And Finn? Well, Finn was happy to go along with this; anything to keep his lovers happy.

Afterwards, when knots had been untied and heated skin was being iced, Finn finally thought to ask Ben what the Latin words on the whistle had said.

“Oh right, I forgot about that,” Ben answered. “It means _who is the one who is coming_. I can’t bring myself to make a joke about it. Anyway, it’s nothing.” And Finn nodded, and kissed his boyfriend’s lips again, and promptly forgot all about the whistle and its inscriptions.

* * *

 

Finn dreams again, and this time he will remember it.

It is as before: the cliff, and the water, and the distant, distant horizon. Only now, there is a storm; a lightning storm. Just a little bit of lightning, so very far away. Finn is still waiting. Is he waiting for the storm? He isn’t sure.

* * *

 

The next morning Ben was a bit sore, so Rey and Finn made love while he helped. Finn enjoyed it, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was still upset, just a little, about what had happened the previous night. But Rey and Ben seemed over it, so he did his best to put it behind himself as well.

They ate breakfast; and then Ben spent the morning continuing to work through his uncle’s papers, while the other two finally got a chance to investigate the beach. The house, as has already been mentioned, was at the bottom of a cliff, and faced south. There was a long driveway down from the main road, a switchback, leading to a parking area on the east side of the house, just large enough to park and turn around in (thank goodness, because reversing up that driveway would be well-nigh impossible). The beach was thus to the west of the house, and continued for several hundred yards before the cliffs bent at the corner, where the longer cliff continued south to the end of the island. The beach itself continued almost all the way to the end; a little over a mile total. At the angle of the cliffs was where the beach was broadest, so that’s where Rey and Finn settled for the morning. They discovered the same small, smooth stones that littered the basement office, and found them to be strangely satisfying to hold; Rey brought out a bucket from under the sink in the kitchen, and they filled it with their most attractive finds.

Finn suggested skinny dipping, but Rey wasn’t interested, insisting the water was just too cold. Instead they brought the stones into the house and arranged them in rows on all the windowsills. They had almost enough to cover them all.

By noon Rey was starving, again, and Finn suggested a change of scenery; so they dragged Ben up from the basement, put on their swimsuits and stopped by the Manan Diner to eat before heading to Stanley’s Beach, on the other side of the island. It was sunny there, and although the water was very cold the air was warm; Finn was pleased to note how Rey blossomed in the sun. Ben, also, seemed enhanced by the outdoors, less distracted than he’d been, although after a few hours he was anxious to get back to the study, back to his scholarly work.

So they went back to the house and had an early dinner, subdued after the excitement of the afternoon. After the meal Ben closed himself in the basement yet again and Rey pulled out an old board game that she’d found in one of the built-in cabinets that lined the back wall of the living room. It was fun, and Rey was engaged and competitive, but she insisted on replacing the playing pieces with some of the smaller stones that lined the windowsills. This made Finn uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t understand. It just seemed wrong, somehow.

After some number of hours Rey started to yawn, so they put away the game, placed the stones back on the windowsills, and made their way up to the bedroom. They made love in the dark room, and as Finn pressed himself into Rey she answered with a breathy moan, and he thought about how it was to be with them all the time. It’s nice, he decided, going to sleep with them every night and waking up with them every morning. This was a rare occurrence, back in Boston, and he’d miss it when they went back because of course they’d have to go back. He considered his own feelings, too, as he took one of Rey’s rosy nipples between his lips and she arched her back to meet him. He thought, perhaps, he was falling in love with her. They’d been friends for so long, the line between friendly regard and romantic love was not as clear as he might once have thought. And as Rey shuddered beneath him, whispering his name as he pulsed into her in reply, Finn thought about Ben, beautiful, mysterious Ben, to whom he had been lost almost from the very start. And as he drifted off to sleep, Rey in his arms and Ben in his heart, he considered how very beautiful the world can be, and how very unfair.

* * *

 

Finn is on the beach. Is this a dream? He’s pretty sure this is a dream. The cliff is too high, and the air is too dark. It’s too quiet to be real.

The storm on the horizon… he remembers the storm, the flicker of the distant lightning. He’s dreamed of this before. But the storm is closer now, it’s moved away from the most distant line and is coming closer. He can see it as it moves. And there’s something with the storm, something… too far away to see. Is that the thing he is waiting for? He steps forward to see if he can get a better look, which is a ridiculous idea, but he steps forward and his foot lands in the surf and then

* * *

 

Finn was awake. He was wide awake, suddenly, sitting up in bed after having some kind of dream. Nightmare? Something about the beach. He shook his head and prepared to lie back down when he noticed something by the bedroom window. Not something - someone. It was Ben, still wearing his clothes, looking out the window onto the water, the moon shining on the water. Finn crawled out of bed and went to him.

“Ben, it’s so late it’s early. Have you been working all this time?”

Ben looked down at him, dreamily. “I can’t sleep.”

Finn lifted up a thumb and caressed the dark bag under his boyfriend’s left eye. Did he have those yesterday? Finn hadn’t noticed if he had. “You need your sleep, sweetheart. Let me help you, okay?”

Ben nodded at him, a bit listless, and his eyes slid off Finn’s face as he helped Ben take his clothes off and walked him over to the bed, placing him in the middle and wrapping himself around Ben’s long, warm body before drifting back to sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning Finn woke up alone, with bright sunlight flowing in through the windows, warming the room. He was tired and hot, his mouth was dry and he had a pounding headache. First pulling on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt he came downstairs to find the basement door shut and Rey playing with a pile of smooth stones on the kitchen table. She gave him a warm smile as he poked through the cabinets.

“Do we have some Advil or something? My head is killing me.”

Rey made a sympathetic noise as she switched the positions of two of the stones. “There's a bottle in the bathroom. I woke up feeling like shit, too. Ben made pancakes, we saved a stack for you, that should help you feel better.” He gave her a kiss on his way back upstairs, and when he came back, having downed three little pills and three glasses of water, she was standing next to the microwave and he could smell the sweet odor of heating pancakes.

Rey sat back down at the table as Finn removed the now warm plate from the microwave oven. He turned and made to sit at the table, and the woman stiffened noticeably.

“Would you mind standing at the counter to eat?” She asked, agitation apparent in her voice. “Or sit at one of the chairs in the living room? I'm working on a… a project and I need the whole table.”

This request annoyed Finn; more than that, it made him angry. He thought, briefly, about snapping at her, insisting that _I should be able to eat my food at a goddamned table at least_. But as he was opening his mouth he was visited by the ghost of Ben’s face from two evenings ago, when the man had yelled at Rey and made her cry, his teeth bared and his eyes wild. Finn had comforted her then; who would comfort her now, if he did what Ben had done?

So instead he took a breath and nodded, kissed her cheek, and took his plate into the living room where he sat on the sofa and ate while looking out on the sparkling, undulating ocean. Although the weather was clear he was thinking of thunderstorms. He ate all the pancakes but didn't remember doing it.

Some time later Rey came to him, excited, and invited him to go back out the cliff beaches with her. She'd made a discovery, something about the different kinds of rocks, and she wanted to gather more. Finn ignored her, continuing to stare blankly out on the ocean instead, so she went by herself. If that bothered her she didn't show it.

* * *

 

Finn had fallen asleep on the sofa. He woke up in the early afternoon, then took his plate to the kitchen. The rest of the breakfast dishes were still there, dirty in the sink, so he washed them off, listening to the sound of the water running out of the faucet and the clack of the stones. Rey was still moving around stacks of rocks on the kitchen table. There seemed to be more of them than there were this morning, but Finn didn’t consider how or why that might have happened.

When he was done cleaning up, he gave Rey a kiss on the top of her head and looked down at what was happening on the table.

There were several small stacks of stones, apparently arranged roughly by color and size. They were small, medium, and large, and the colors varied from a kind of slate grey through various shades of blue, green, and red, up to a light pink. The colors came from tiny bits of shiny stone, all embedded in the same dull, light-grey rock. The stones were smooth, round and narrow, like they’d be perfect for skipping over water. There was a separate pile of pebbles, all the different colors piled together. Finn didn’t like it, those piles of rocks on the kitchen table, but Rey was clearly happy so he asked her about it.

“I don’t know, it’s just a satisfying way to pass the time,” she answered. “Anyway, it’s almost two and I’m starving. How about you, would you like a sandwich?”

He would, and so they pulled out the bread, meat, cheese and other fixings, and Rey proceeded to assembly-line the making of three sandwiches.

While she did that, Finn took the stairs down to the still-closed basement door and gave it a knock. There was no answer, so he pushed the door open to find Ben at the desk, slouched over, head down and sleeping soundly. Part of him was happy to see Ben sleeping; he’d been so tired and out of it earlier that morning, and he couldn’t have slept more than a couple of hours. The other part was annoyed; they only have so many days here, time is valuable, Ben should be spending his time getting everything he can from his uncle’s stuff, or he should be out there with the other two, not sleeping at his desk. But Finn couldn’t bring himself to be too annoyed; Ben looked so beautiful asleep, even like this, the lamp causing his eyelashes to cast delicate shadows across his pale face, lips pink and kissable even in repose. Finn brushed a lock of hair off the other man’s forehead and leaned down to kiss his cheek; that was enough to awaken Ben, who blinked his eyes open and gave Finn a big, open smile as he sat up and stretched, then placed the object he’d been holding in his right hand back in its black satin box.

“I was dreaming about you,” he murmured, pulling Finn onto his lap, the other man’s legs straddling his thighs.

It felt so good, on Ben’s lap, his arms wrapped around him, to be the focus of his attention, his mouth _right there_. “Was it a good dream?” Finn asked as he pushed his fingers into the hair on either side of Ben’s face.

Ben’s hands were on his ass, pulling their bodies together, and even through two pairs of jeans Finn could feel how hard his boyfriend was. “It was _so good_ . I don’t remember it now, the details, but I remember you. You were on the beach, and you were naked, and you were _so strong_ , and…” Finn cut him off with a kiss, and within moments they were both standing, and Ben’s hands were in Finn’s pants, then he was on his knees, and after Finn came he got on his knees for Ben, too, enjoying first the solid length of him filling his mouth, and finally the bitterness of his release in the back of his throat. Satiated, calm again, they tucked themselves away before kissing some more, Finn leaning gently against the desk, enjoying the sensation of Ben’s sweet lips caressing his own lips, his cheeks, eyelids, nose, chin, all the while the man whispering sweet words like _beautiful_ and _strong_ and _beach_ and _storm_.

* * *

 

They had talked, briefly, the day before about going to the mainland, but by 4pm they had missed the last afternoon ferry and it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. After eating his sandwich Ben had retired back to the basement, and Rey had returned to her piles of rocks. Finn didn’t want to go sightseeing alone, but he really wanted to get out of the house, so he walked up the driveway to the main road and crossed into the small woods there. It was pretty, and it smelled nice, like pine and dirt, a living, organic scent that didn’t reach the bottom of the cliff. He picked up a stick and used it to whack at the trunks of some of the trees. He didn’t understand why he was feeling so weird, so tired, so aggressive. He was having a good time; he was with two of his favorite people. It was a good vacation.

Eventually he got tired of that game and headed back down to the house, and he prepared dinner to the soft music of the surf, and the clacking of stone against stone. They ate in the living room, looking out at the dimming horizon.  

Eventually, They slept. They were together, and that was good; there were warm eyes and soft lips and reaching hands, but somewhere they were apart.

* * *

 

This time Finn immediately knows he’s dreaming. It feels good this time, like returning to an old friend.

Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for, an old friend. Is that who it is in the storm, so much closer now than it was last time? He can see a figure, still so far away but clear, visible every time the lightning flickers. He can feel now that there is something under his bare feet, and when he looks down he is standing on stone, a mosaic drawn of small, smooth stones, colorful, arranged in a pattern. It is, he knows, a pattern of _welcome_. Welcome for a friend. He smiles, and watches as the storm moves closer.

* * *

 

Finn woke up first. He left Rey sleeping, looking like an angel, and fried up a pound of bacon and scrambled some eggs, leaving enough for her to eat whenever she would finally get up.

He ate in the living room, out of respect, but after cleaning up his dishes he had a seat in the chair where Rey had been occupied the day before. And this morning, it made _sense_. Yesterday, it had just been piles of colorful rocks, but today he could see the meaning in the piles, in the organization. But it wasn’t right; not quite.

Rey came down eventually, and he was dimly aware of her preparing a plate of food, then, a bit later, he felt her lips on his temple and looked up to see her smiling down at him. She looked good; clear, refreshed. _I love her_ , he thought to himself, and the realization made him giddy.

It must have made him smile, too, because she grinned back down at him. Then her face opened up, as though she’d suddenly remembered something - which she had. “Oh! We’d talked yesterday about going to the mainland. There’s an 11:30 ferry, if we leave now we can make it. I’d really like to see the lighthouse and museum at Blacks Harbour.” She looked down at him expectantly, and he remembered wanting to go to the mainland yesterday, desperately, but he couldn’t remember why, and now he didn’t really want to.

“Rey, I know we had, but this,” and he gestured to the table. She nodded sympathetically and gave his mouth a gentle kiss.

“I understand completely. It’s a real puzzle, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out. I’ll get out of your hair, though. I’ll plan to be on the 3:30 ferry back, but if I miss it the next one isn’t until nine. So you should see me around 5:30, if we’re lucky, and 11 o’clock, if we’re not. Okay?”

Finn nodded, attention already drawn back to the piles of stones. He didn’t hear her leave a few minutes later.

* * *

 

Finn divided his time between looking out at the ocean and reorganizing the rocks on the table. It was soothing, and felt productive, important in a way that regular work, work back home, didn’t usually feel.

He was dimly aware of drifting in and out of something. Time was passing, he was pretty sure he ate some food, he remembered the feeling of the surf on his bare feet but didn’t remember actually going out onto the beach.

What finally broke Finn out of… whatever it was he was in, was the steady sound of rock pounding on rock. He looked out the window. The sun was well over the cliff, the house and beach and ocean bathed in shadow, but it was still mid-afternoon at most. After listening to this mysterious sound for a few minutes, he determined that its source was outside, so he went out the door and followed the noise around to the other side of the house. It was coming from the beach, more properly from the cliff, the cliff that towered over the beach.

Finn stepped around the corner just in time to see Rey pick up an especially large rock and hurl it against the cliffside, next to where the wall of the basement leaned up against it, like a buttress against the wall of a cathedral.

“Hey, Rey. What are you doing?” He asked, feeling a bit stupid, and she turned around and smiled at him, unshed tears visible in her eyes. It wasn’t an especially pleasant smile; she looked upset, uncertain. Hurt.

She picked up and hurled another rock at the cliff before turning back to him. A single tear made a path down her cheek. “I’m so sad, Finn. I don’t know why, I just feel terrible. Will you help me feel better?”

Finn’s heart jumped in his chest; of _course_ he would. He would do _anything_ to make her feel better, and he told her so. She smiled at that, more genuinely, and took a few steps towards him. He took a few steps, too, and they met in the middle, and then her tongue was in his mouth and he could _taste_ her hunger. He was hungry too, and before he knew it they were back in the house, on the bed, her shirt was off and her breasts were in his mouth and she was on top of him, rubbing herself against his erection through their shorts and making the most glorious, ungodly sounds of pleasure.

And then she flipped them over, he was on top and she was writhing beneath him, her tongue in his mouth again, and her hands were on his back, she crooked her fingers and pressed them into his skin and then she _pulled_.

Finn screamed and jumped off of her, tears already forming in the corners of his eyes. “What the _fuck_ , Rey?” he yelled, continuing to move away, shuffling down towards the end of the bed. His back hurt, the scratches already starting to throb. He wondered if she had done it hard enough to draw blood.

Rey didn’t look ashamed; she was smiling, a soft, teasing smile that would have been cute under any other circumstance. “What, don’t you like that?” Her voice was teasing, too.

He stood up and looked down at her, and felt a twist deep in his gut. “You know I don’t like that, you know I don’t like pain.” And he couldn’t help the tear that escaped his right eye and made its way down his cheek, resting only when it reached his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Oops,” she said, grinning. “My mistake.” And she slid off the bed, pulled her shirt back on, and left. A few minutes later the sound outside resumed, rocks being hurled one-by-one steadily against the cliff face. It continued for a while longer, until finally it stopped.

Finn, distraught, knew what would help him calm down, help him relax after being so intimately violated. He went back down to the kitchen and gave himself to the stones. He felt better immediately; he also felt like he was getting closer to whatever it was he was supposed to be finding, some secret he was uncovering. He still didn’t understand what exactly that meant.

* * *

 

Rey walked back in the door when the little clock on the microwave oven read 5:33. She gave Finn a kiss on the cheek, where he sat contemplating the contents of the kitchen table. He was still angry at her, and he didn’t respond to her kiss, but if she noticed any stiffness on his part she didn’t mention it. He hadn’t started dinner yet, hadn’t even thought about it, but she started digging around in the fridge and pulled out a couple of steaks, red and yellow peppers, an eggplant, and a zucchini.

That combination of ingredients meant one thing: steak and ratatouille. That was Finn’s favorite meal, and he felt himself melt, just a little, as she set the steaks up to marinate and started chopping the vegetables. _Maybe she’s sorry_ , he thought to himself, _and this is her way of apologizing_. He didn’t say anything about it, though.

“Finn, why did we buy mushrooms? Do you like mushrooms?” Rey asked suddenly, looking up from where she was just finishing up the zucchini. Finn shook his head and shrugged, and she shrugged too before turning back to the cutting board.

Some hours later, after another meal eaten in the living room, looking out at the ocean, Rey finally pulled Finn away from the table and up to the bedroom. He put on pajamas, the first time since they’d arrived at the beach house, and Rey seemed disappointed. She stayed naked, and tried to snuggle up against him, but he pushed her away; not harshly, he didn’t think, but she needed to know that after what she’d done that afternoon she couldn’t just expect a second go at him, as though after steak and ratatouille suddenly everything was going to be okay.

She took the hint and masturbated instead, on the other side of the bed. She didn’t bother to hide her breathy moans, the wet sounds as she pushed her fingers inside her body, or her soft cry when she made herself come. If it turned Finn on he wasn’t going to say anything, and he certainly wasn’t going to do anything about it. He eventually fell asleep, lulled by the sound of Rey’s quiet breathing and the gentle noise of the surf lapping up against the beach.

* * *

 

Finn welcomes the dream, is excited for it.

The storm is so much closer; he can smell the rain and the ozone from the lightning, and he can hear the thunder, finally he can hear the thunder. He can see, too, the figure in the storm. Large, so much larger than he’d imagined. He is aware, for the first time, of other figures with him, behind him on the mosaic floor that now covers the beach. They are with him to welcome the one who is coming, but he can’t see them, he doesn’t know who they are. _We are here_ , he thinks in his dream, _we are waiting for you_.

* * *

 

Finn got out of bed sometime in the early morning, needing to take a piss. When he was done he stood by the window for a minute to watch the water move gently under the moonless, cloudless sky. There were so many stars; had there always been so many stars, here? He couldn’t remember.

He felt, suddenly, that something was missing. Something important. What was it? But then he picked up one of the stones lining the window sill and the thought passed, and he returned to bed, stone in hand, and slept soundly until the sun was well up the next morning.

* * *

 

Finn and Rey woke up at the same time in the morning, bright sunlight shining in through the bedroom window. They had both moved towards the center of the bed during the night, and Finn found his arms now wrapped tightly around her blissfully naked body. She was soft, and warm, and sleepily pliant under his hands, and his tongue. After she cried out his name for the third time, loud even muffled by the pillow, he decided that he forgave her. He pretty much forgave her.

While Rey cooked breakfast, Finn went outside to stand on the beach. The sand was cold under his bare feet, still damp from the recently departed tide. He found a good spot, set well up from the tide line, almost directly between the house and the cliff face that adjoined their own. The space was flat and they had already picked it almost clean of stones, so there wouldn’t be much preparation to do. Satisfied, Finn headed back into the house to eat a hearty meal of French toast and sausage. It was an important day; it wouldn’t do either of them any good to go hungry.

There were so many rocks on the table, and only one bucket, so it took them six trips to get them all back out onto the beach. They had to be careful, too, so the different piles didn’t get too mixed up, although they got mixed up anyway and they had to take some time to make sure they were properly separated out again on the sand.

Rey decided that, since Finn had had so much luck figuring out the organization of the stones and the pattern they needed, he would direct the work and she would do what he told her to. He found this division of labor appealing, and considered things he might tell her to do that didn’t strictly involve arranging the stones on the beach. Then he pushed that thought aside; there would be time enough for that later, surely. _Later when_ , a part of his brain said, _after what_. He didn’t know, but there was some kind of confidence in this work and it was easier to go along with it than to question it.

They started by marking the ground: an almost-square, sides not quite equal, corners not quite 90 degrees, something like ten feet by ten feet. This was the most difficult part, Finn knew, but also the most vital to get right. _How do you know this_ whispered his brain again, and again he ignored it.

Once he was satisfied, they moved on to filling in the body of the thing. This is where the ratios of colors and sizes came in. They would have to be careful to space the stones correctly, too. They divided the almost-square into quadrants, and worked quadrant by quadrant, being careful to save stones as they went. This was an art, but it was exacting, the placement of every stone was important, so Finn was very careful as they lay the thing out. Every once in a while they would run short of a certain color or size, and Finn would send Rey down the beach to find more.

When she came back he would give her a reward for her hard work, for her dedication; they both enjoyed that, very much, but he had to be careful not to take too much time. ( _Time from what_ , whispered his brain, _dedication to what_ ; he pushed the thought down, as Rey came on his fingers again.) They had work to do, and a deadline to meet.

In the mid-afternoon Finn sent Rey inside, instructing her to make lunch and bring it out to the beach. She came back with sandwiches, a bag of chips (salt and vinegar; not their favorite, but edible), and some S. Pellegrino, which they drank directly from the bottle. She also brought a blanket, which made the meal more comfortable, and after they finished eating Rey wrapped it around herself. It was now quite chilly, in the shadow of the cliffs; it was just a bit more than Rey’s naked body could handle, and it would only get colder as the sun moved further and further away.

As they got closer to finishing their task time seemed to collapse, and before they knew it it was almost dark, certainly very close to sunset, and it had been hours since lunch. Rey was hungry, and Finn believed that they were finally done, all the stones having been pushed solidly into the sand, so they went inside to eat again, and to see what would happen next. Neither of them were sure.

Finn decided that Rey deserved a break, since she’d been so helpful all day, so she sat at the kitchen table and watched the ocean ripple under the star-strewn sky while he cooked. She looked beautiful, he thought, her hair thoroughly windblown, face still pink not from the sun, but from the wind and the chilly, damp air. It was warmer in the house, and she allowed the blanket to drape her body loosely, exposing the side and flank of her facing into the kitchen. He wanted to consume her; he would, too, if he could figure out how. Absorb her into his bloodstream, make her part of himself.

Yes; he’d definitely forgiven her for what she’d done to him yesterday. Why did he keep thinking about that? He couldn’t remember anything else about yesterday.

He couldn’t remember anything at all. The thought niggled at him, and there was still that bit of his brain. _Why can’t you remember?_ It made him uncomfortable, so he said the first thing to her that came to mind - the first words they had spoken out loud to each other for hours - and that was, “You were so good today, Rey. So good. I couldn’t have done it without you. I forgive you for what you did yesterday, even though  you haven’t asked for forgiveness.” It felt good to say; he was giving her a gift, earned but unasked for, well-deserved, and he felt magnanimous saying those words out loud to her.

Instead of looking thankful, however, she looked confused. She was quiet, with a deeply thoughtful expression on her face, and first she said, “I don’t remember yesterday.” But then, it was as though - as it had been with Finn - having been reminded, she was able to remember. She sat up straighter in the chair and looked at the floor. “Wait, yes I do. But what did I do that needs forgiving? I didn’t do anything wrong yesterday.” And she looked at him across the kitchen, with her beautiful eyes, green dipped in gold, and she asked, “What did I do?”

He wished he hadn’t said anything, because either she was lying, or… what? But he answered her honestly. “You scratched me.”

She laughed, a single bark of surprised laughter, and leaned forward. “When did I scratch you? I barely touched you. I kissed you in the morning, I suppose, I usually do. Didn’t I?” Then she shook her head briefly and continued. “And then, when we went to bed, you wouldn’t let me touch you at all, which made me angry, because I didn’t understand why. But no, I didn’t scratch you, my goodness Finn. And if I did,” she gazed at him with intensity, “if I _did_ , and I’ve forgotten, it must have been an accident. I would never do anything to hurt you Finn, _never_.”

He was certain she was telling the truth, or at least she thought she was. But he had been scratched, he _had_. And she’d done it, he was sure. So what was the truth?

“You were throwing rocks at the cliff,” he started, and she interrupted him immediately.

“When was I supposed to be doing that?”

He considered; he tried to remember. The sun had been behind the cliff, but it had still been very bright outside. He hadn’t been hungry. Why was this so hard? “Um, sometime in the afternoon. Maybe 3, 3:30?” He looked at her hopefully. Perhaps this would jog her memory.

She frowned at him. “Finn, I was on the mainland all afternoon, remember? I invited you but you wanted to stay. To… to…” She was staring at the table, now. “Stones. It was about stones.”

Something was happening, now. Finn could see it, in Rey’s face, in her body. And he remembered, now, that she _had_ left the day before, she’d left on the 11:30 ferry and told him she wouldn’t be back until 5:30; and that’s what she’d done. She’d come home and made him steak and ratatouille.   

Finn felt as though the floor was dropping out from underneath him. “But, my back,” he muttered, “it hurt my back.” And he turned his back to her, facing towards the stove, and realized that there was something cooking on a burner, and whatever it was was burning. He could smell it, now. He swore and moved the pan to a cold burner, and turned the hot burner off.

What the fuck was happening?

He heard Rey step up behind him, felt her hands on his back, her fingers stroking gently from his neck all the way down to his lower back, but she wrapped her arms around him before reaching his ass. She pressed her naked body against his, and she was so solid, so warm.

Then she turned him around slowly. There were tears in her eyes. “Finn, your back is fine. No scratches.”

He started to open his mouth, to say something like _if it wasn’t that than what_ … but then he closed it with a snap. He remembered, now, and he can’t understand why he thought that was ever Rey at all. It looked nothing like Rey; it looked like nothing at all.

Rey’s hands were on his chest, then, pushing against him. “Finn, why are we naked? What are we doing? What are we _doing_ ?” And then she was shaking, and the tears in her eyes were on her face, and he was just _confused_ and felt like there was something just there, something he wasn’t quite getting.

She took a few deep breaths and started asking him questions. “Finn, what’s your name?”

He had to think for a second. “It’s… Finn.”

“ _Not it’s not_ ,” she insisted, her hands still warm and solid on his chest. “That’s just what we call you, it’s a nickname. What’s your _name_?”

What _was_ his name? He cast his mind back, to a past curiously empty of everything except… there was Rey. Bits of Rey. And he remembered talking to her about names, about her name and his name, which is, “John.” He answered, “John Finley. John Finley Junior, because my dad doesn’t have that much imagination.”

Rey hopped up and down and laughed through her tears. “Yes, I remember you saying that. He’s a plumber, right? He worked his ass off to get you through college. Okay, what’s my name? Do you remember mine?”

He gazed down into her eyes and remembered that conversation. It’s so easy, now that it’s there. “Regina,” he said. “Regina Niima. You don’t like it, though. Why don’t you like it?”

She answered immediately. “Too many _ee_ sounds, and the scansion is bad. It’s just dumb. Also I think it sucks for parents to give their daughter a name that means _queen_ and then fuck off and leave her to be raised by her grandfather.”

He kissed her, then, kissed her hard, and they were both laughing and crying, and that was nice for a minute, but then Rey pulled away, looking thoughtful again.

“That still doesn’t explain why were naked, here. What the fuck is happening? Where _are_ we?”

Finn’s memory was still spotty, but he would try. When he tried, it seemed to help, even if he wasn’t getting it quite right. “Okay, we’re at the beach house. Right?”

Rey nodded. “Beach house. In Canada? Off the coast of Maine? But why?”

“We came here… for the stones.”

Rey shook her head vehemently. “No. The stones came later. We came here for work. For work?”

It was Finn’s turn to shake his head. “We didn’t come for work. We came to.. _wha_ … _wha…_ ” There was a word, it was _right there_ , and Finn knew that if he could get to it, it would answer all their questions. He gripped her shoulders and kept repeating that syllable, but it did him no good.

Rey, frustrated, pursed her lips and blew through them, resulting in a sharp, breathy sound that made them both jump.

“ _Whistle_ ,” they said as one, and Finn’s heart jumped. That was the word.

“I blew the whistle,” she said, and her face fell. “Oh, and he was _so_ angry.”

Finn’s brain went white, and the whisper in his brain was a scream, and that scream was, “BEN!”

And he remembered _everything_ , the invitation and the basement and the whistle and the beautiful man who had come in his mouth just two days before, and whom he had then completely forgotten.

The basement stairs, which Finn was positive had not been there just minutes before, were there now, and he jumped down them and wrenched the door open, Rey just a few steps behind him… and there was Ben, sitting in the chair at the desk, his back to the door. Sitting, just as he’d been every time they had come down to drag him up to eat, or to bed, his back slumped, head bowed.

There was one banker’s box of papers on the floor, abandoned in front of a file cabinet; otherwise the room was unchanged from the first time they’d seen it, the first night of their visit, when Rey had blown the whistle and Ben had chased them out.

No; that’s not quite right. Ben had gathered together all the stones that had been strewn about the room, and had arranged them in a neat configuration, not quite square, across the top of the desk. The former contents of the desktop, papers and pens and other random bits and bobs, even his own phone, were strewn across the already messy floor, as though flung there by a single shove of an arm. Next to the stones was a little, black, satin-lined box. It was empty.

Finn kneeled down next to the man in the chair, who smelled of body odor and piss. He looked down at Finn and smiled weakly. “Hey, Finn,” he said softly, and then his eyes glided from Finn’s face down to his body. “You’re already naked.”

Rey was standing on the other side of the chair. There were still tears running down her face, but her expression had shifted from horrified to determined. “We need to leave. Right now. Come on, Ben,” and she went to grab his arm, to pull him out of the chair, but he recoiled from her and hissed. Finn noticed that there was an object clutched in his hands.

“No!” Ben cried, his face crumbling. “We can’t leave! It’s coming. We need to be here to welcome it; that’s what we’ve been doing, we can’t leave now.”

Rey grabbed his arm anyway and leaned towards him. “We don’t have to go far,” she wheedled, “we’ve missed the last ferry by now anyway. Just up the driveway. That’s all. Just up the driveway and into the woods. Right?”

She looked to Finn for confirmation, and he nodded. The woods were good; they were alive, and green. He felt the woods would protect them. “Yes, the woods! We’d be safe up there, just for the night. And then in the morning we can decide what to do.”

Ben glanced back and forth between them and sobbed. “Just don’t leave me. I’ve been so lonely. We need to stay together, the three of us. Okay?”

The other two agreed, and they pulled him up on unsteady feet and he allowed them to lead him up to the bedroom.

Finn figured it had been at least forty-eight hours since Ben had eaten, so he asked Rey to heat him up a can of soup or something, while he took care of the other man. She did as he asked, but not before throwing on jeans and a sweater, and a pair of cozy-looking wool socks. If they were going to sleep in the car, she said, they needed to wrap up. Although it had been unseasonably warm during the day, up into the seventies, the evenings would be in the low 40s, and they would need to bundle up to stay comfortable.

Ben was filthy. Finn balled up his dirty clothes and left them in the corner of the bathroom before helping him into the tub and running very warm water. It would eventually be just a few inches deep, but Finn started scrubbing Ben as soon as there was enough water to soak a washcloth.

As Finn scrubbed him Ben sipped water from a plastic cup and babbled about all that he had learned from his uncle's research; about knowledge and wisdom and truth and power. Then he started talking about how excited he was to finally meet _the one who is coming_ , and when that made Finn weep Ben wiped his tears, and told him he loved him, and _please don’t cry_ , and kissed him sweetly, and Finn wished with all his heart that they had never left Boston.

In a few minutes Ben was clean, and dressed in fresh clothes, layers of clothes to keep him warm. He poked through his dirty clothes as Finn dressed himself and threw a few more things into a backpack, then he helped Ben down the stairs to join Rey in the kitchen. She’d put the soup in a thermos she’d scavenged from one of the cabinets, and had sandwiches, too, layered in the bread bag. They stepped out of the house, not bothering to lock the door behind them. The night was cold and very, very still, and although Finn was positive there were no clouds in the sky, there were no stars either. The darkness, outside of the circles of light coming from the lights of the house, was absolute.

They made their way to the car. Finn and Ben got into the back seat together, and Rey took the wheel. She started the car, turned it around carefully, and made their way up the switchback of the driveway, through the liquid dark, until they almost reached the main road.

As she was turning into the last switchback the car stalled out, and Rey wasn’t able to get it to start again. Finn could see that she was trying very hard to hide her agitation, but after several failed attempts at restarting the car, she finally threw her fists against the steering wheel and screamed.

Ben turned to Finn and nodded sagely. “It will only let you go so far.” He was entirely unbothered, and turned in his seat to look out towards the water. Although the darkness was thick around them the view of the ocean from the top of the cliff was clear, all the way out to the distant horizon.

Finn and Rey exchanged a glance, and Rey shrugged. “We can’t push the car up the hill the rest of the way, and we can’t sleep outside; it’s too cold. So let’s stay here, in the car, until morning, and then figure out what to do. Okay?”

Finn agreed. Ben didn’t say anything; he continued to look expectantly out at the stillness of the ocean.

* * *

 

Finn is dreaming again, but this dream is different.

He’s not on the beach, he’s in a car. What is he doing in a car? This is wrong, but he can fix it. He steps out of the car, then realizes he is wearing clothes and steps out of those as well. The cold air feels good on his skin. He feels strong. He feels _powerful_.

He walks down to the beach. The others are already there, he can feel them, they are waiting for him on the stones. He can see that they are also prepared; here and there, their clothes litter the road down to the welcoming.

As he makes his way to the bottom of the cliff the darkness lifts, and he can see the storm. It's so close, not even a mile out, and even from here he can feel the mist of it on his face, coating the skin of his naked body. With every strike of lightning he can see the one they have been waiting for, the accompanying thunder announcing its arrival. It is colossal, as large as a mountain and more brilliant than the Sun. It sees him too, and it salutes him, and he is filled with joy.

The other two are there, as he expected, and they are celebrating in the way that it wishes them to celebrate. He is on top of her, and she is writhing in pleasure. As she reaches orgasm she rakes her nails across his back leaving deep red rents in their wake. He screams and comes into her, and Finn can taste their pleasure and their pain on his tongue. His own back throbs sympathetically; it feels good. He will join them, soon enough, but he has something he has to do first.

The one who is coming is almost there. The drizzle has turned to a downpour and the lightning is above their heads and their Master is _right there_. It towers over them. Behind him, Finn can hear the soft sound of wind through trees, from very far away. The others are blowing the whistle in welcome, in celebration.

They acknowledge each other silently, and then the Master reaches down one massive limb, edged with claws, and silently requests for its priest to step into it. The Master is pleased, and its priest deserves a reward.

Finn is filled with love for his Master, and for the two as well. He knows now that they will never be apart, that they will always, somehow, be here together.

He steps forward and his foot lands in the surf, and this time he does not wake up.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  Character A came into possession of a beach house after a distant relative passed away and left it to them. The house is on a mostly isolated stretch of beach, but the water is clear and the weather is mild. It’s nice during the day, but something strange happens at night. It almost seems darker than it should be somehow, and strange noises can be heard out over the water. Also, there’s the fact that Character A keeps dreaming of a strange figure in the surf and they seem to be getting closer and closer to the shore every night.
> 
> A note on the location: I have never been to Grand Manan Island, and I did the most rudimentary research for this story. One thing I know I did is that I mangled the island's geography. There are tall cliffs with narrow beaches on that island, but they line the western side, not the eastern side. But I needed a cliff, so I switched the sides. Most of the places I mentioned are real places, aside from the diner; there doesn't appear to be a diner on Grand Manan. It sounds lovely and perhaps I will get a chance to visit someday! 
> 
> If you like scary stories may I suggest that you head over to [walk the halls (climb up the walls)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724410/chapters/36554886) by [lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olga_theodora/pseuds/lachesisgrimm), it's a multi-chapter Reylo Haunted House AU and it's fucking terrifying, I love it so much.
> 
> If you liked this story (or not, I guess) please leave kudos and/or a comment!
> 
> I'm leofgyth on Tumblr, come say hi!


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